As He Wishes (sixth rambling)
by Aednat the Fourteenth
Summary: "It could be quite amusing, to be honest. Finding excuses. Using his imagination! It was not often that he had to lie his way out of troublesome circumstances. Why would it be, when all his wishes were orders, and his ministers and counsellors were more than happy to deal with the most intricate strategies in his place?" - Unexpected winner of June 2017's Fête des Mousquetaires.


He could make him pay in so many ways.

He could revoke his commission. That would be the simplest, most straightforward solution. He's known the man long enough to understand that being a Musketeer is all his life. Well, maybe not **all** of it, now, but certainly the one thing that he's never been able to give up. So yes, he could do that. Force him to walk away from the only oath he didn't break.

He could also send him to war. In Montjuïc or Thionville. Those fronts were reportedly among the deadliest. Over a hundred men lost, just last week, Tréville had informed him. In battle or from scurvy. Well **that** would an appropriate end to the interloper: losing his teeth and bleeding to death, his limbs too bruised to stand and his gums too swollen to articulate anything but senseless, delirious grunts… What a way to go for the once glorious hedonist! Reduced to a debilitated, feverish wreck! He would ride out and inspect the front lines himself just to revel in the sight!

Or he could be more vicious still. He could promote him. Make him a General. Even give him a title! After all, the man renounced his religious vows to serve King and country at great personal risk and, to his credit, has proven himself more than equal to the task. That deserves a reward. Years applying his competences behind the lines; then lands, servants to tend them, and gold to pay for everything. A luxurious, dull and pointless retirement, far, far away from Paris. He knows some faithful Ministers who would ensure that his foe would never, ever, be called back to the Court. Courtiers who would never disobey even a dead King's order, as they've been raised.

He could simply order him killed, of course.  
That's what the younger him would have done, without hesitation. Treason meant death. Easy. Such was the right way of things, and not even the Cardinal, or Rochefort, or Tréville ever questioned him on that matter. He would have to make up a false accusation, obviously. He doesn't much mind having Anne disgraced, but under no circumstances would he place his son in a position of weakness. It could be quite amusing, to be honest. Inventing something. Finding various excuses. Using his imagination! It was not often that he had to lie his way out of troublesome circumstances. Why would it be, when all his wishes were orders, and his ministers and counsellors were more than happy to deal with the most intricate strategies in his place?

So, yes, the prospect of a false accusation holds undeniable appeal. But Louis doesn't want Aramis dead. He wants him to hurt. And he knows firsthand that the most excellent way to achieve such a purpose is to trample his pride and swindle him of everything he loves.  
Besides, even allowing that no man is irreplaceable, it would be foolish to deprive France of such bravery and skills.  
So yes, he shall keep his word. He shall not kill his foe. But oh, how, he will make him suffer!

xxxx

He's in the process of setting his wishes - his order - to paper when the Dauphin comes in. The six-year-old runs into the office, oblivious to the apologetic governess - Élise - on his heels. Louis knows that the woman, as well as the two guards outside, have let the boy in only with a protest of principle. Everybody is aware that he wishes his son to be allowed to see him anytime he desires. The child rushes for him and spills half the content of the inkpot on the mahogany desk before he has the time to put it straight. His written order is ruined.  
"Louis!" he scowls, but the rebuke would be more efficient if he wasn't laughing.  
"I'm so sorry, Your Majesty!" Élise exclaims, in the unfailingly subservient tone that comes only from years of service. He waves her faked concerns away.

"I wish to go to the pond!" the boy happily states. "With you!"  
Louis casts a last glance at his feather and paper and the Dauphin cajoles: "Please, _papa_! You've been working all day!"  
That is remarkably innaccurate but his son knows exactly how to make his own wishes come true. Louis chuckles again and takes the boy into his arms, repressing a wince when the effort makes him short of breath.  
"Well," he coughs. "Your wish is my command, _Sire_."

xxxx

"Your Majesty," Tréville's voice interrupts as he leaves the office. "Please allow me to call for a small escort."  
Louis sighs. Since being told the King's secret, his Prime Minister has turned into a real mother hen.

If he were to be totally honest with himself, he would admit that part of him is touched by the offer. It is good to feel cared for. Not out of duty but of genuine concern. Louis doesn't remember having ever been loved. After all, he was only eight and a half when he inherited the French crown, and his mother never saw him as anything but a means to an end. One day, he should thank Tréville. Tell him that, since the Cardinal's death, he is the closest thing he ever had to a father.  
But not today. Today, everyone is still playing their parts.  
" **Please** , Tréville!" he scowls. "We are merely taking a little stroll to the **pond** ! What could possibly happen?"  
The man seems unconvinced but gives a small bow anyway.  
"As you wish, Your Majesty."

 _Yes_ , Louis muses as he resumes his walk, his son's hand into his. _As I wish._

Behind them, someone is already hastening to clean the desk.

xxxx

They are met with several disapproving looks on their way.  
The courtiers bowed low, as they've been raised, but Louis didn't miss their badly concealed disdain as he chased his little boy in the gardens, tickling him when he caught him, laughing as hard as his lungs allow.  
He knows they think him a fool.  
He knows, now, that they always did.  
Knows that, as far as they're concerned, he's never been the master of his own castle.  
But it's too late to clamp down. Too late, even, to care.  
He is content with knowing that he knows, and they don't know he knows, so who's the fool, really?

They have walked to the little pond, behind the trees, where the Dauphin loves to fish for alevins. It's a fifteen-minute stroll but, when they reached their destination, he had to sit down.  
He'd panted: "Oh wait! Wait, _Monsieur_ , for your poor old _papa_!" and collapsed on the grass, not minding that he would have to come back to the castle with green, wet stains on his bottom.  
The boy laughed heartily: "You're so funny!" and Louis knew what it meant better than the child did:

 _I love you,_ papa _. You're the only one who treats me like a person. The others, they smile at me, even when I misbehave, but it always seems that they want something from me. They play with me, but it's like they're afraid. They talk to me as if I was still a baby but they call me Your Majesty. What do they want? Why are they afraid? Why are they talking strangely to me? Am I different? Am I a monster,_ papa _? Please, can you come and play? Just the two of us? And when will I ride Perroquet on my own?_

Perroquet is his pony. Louis bought it two months ago because it is sweet and docile, and always seems to nod in agreement after you say something to it, which is positively hilarious. It also allows the Dauphin to ride a mount of an appropriate size, the only condition Anne demanded be met for the child to be allowed to do so without two other riders by his side.

She thinks her husband spoils their son, which is absolutely true and deliberate. Louis would do anything to make the few moments they have left flawless. Besides, he'd been spoiled himself and turned out perfectly fine, hadn't he?  
His relationship with the boy is his greatest accomplishment. He feels loved, respected and, most of all, someone looks up to him. He doesn't **want** to hurt Anne, but doesn't mind if he does.

Anne…

They never loved one another, but there was a time when they were friends. When they were happy to aim for a common goal: to give France a legitimate heir, and prevent years of schemes, plots, assassinations, and, maybe, war.  
Good Lord, had they failed at everything!  
They had tried, tried, and tried again, but it was as if her body rejected him! To the point that the one time they succeeded in conceiving, she managed to lose the baby! He never blamed her for anything, though. Not openly, at any rate. Although he was fairly certain that **she** was the sole person responsible for their ordeal.  
And then, as if he had needed further proof, she met Aramis, and one night was enough...

As always when he thinks back to that abominable day, he cannot help but wonder...

 _Could Louis be my son?_

There is a chance, isn't there? After all, he and Anne had not completely stopped trying, at the time.

There is a chance.  
A chance that, after more than a decade together, one of their last half-hearted attempts had been successful, and it would be just pure coincidence that the baby was born exactly nine months after she'd slept with another, healthier, man.  
A man she loves.

 _There is a chance._

 _A woman always knows who the father of her child is_ , his mother had once stated confidently, as she was plotting the disgrace of an allegedly unfaithful Duchesse who happened to be a particularly influential Lutheran.

Well, his mother was a deceitful witch.

Like most women he'd known.

Thinking him a fool.

Maybe he does want to hurt Anne.

Maybe he is more than a little happy that their son loves him more than he loves her.

She's paying.

Aramis will pay a hundred times over.

As he wishes.

xxxx

The boy has been talking to the fish, as he tries to catch them with his little net, for a good twenty minutes, and Louis is amazed by the amount of concentration a child is able to exert in the execution of small, meaningless things.  
He loves him even more for that.

 _On what chances do our lives swing?_

 _I would have made him disappear,_ he suddenly realizes.  
 _I would have had him killed the day he was born, if I had known._

Good Lord! The thought is ghastly!  
Why does his own brain torture him like that?

He shudders, but is saved from introspection by the sight of his son stumbling.

It all happens very fast.

The Dauphin falls. He has the time to scream before his face hits the water. The sudden silence that follows, troubled only by weak splashes, is deafening.

Louis runs.

He runs to the pond, and doesn't care about his fine clothes when he jumps into the water, doesn't care if he almost falls over with an undignified yelp, doesn't care if his lungs are burning, because the Dauphin cannot swim! The pond is not deep but he cannot swim, and he's stuck in the mud, and it's been **seconds** and his little head has not surfaced, and he  
will drown! He will drown if nobody helps him out, so Louis seizes him. He slips into the sludge, almost sprains his ankle and goes down on his behind, and he's got water up to his chin, now, but he doesn't care because he holds his sputtering and sobbing son into his arms.

 _I've got him!_ he thinks.  
"I've got him!" somebody shouts, and he feels himself pulled out of the pond, then dragged to the shore so quickly he barely registers the motion.  
Of course Tréville had them followed!

 _They all think me a fool._

 _I don't care._

Strong hands try to take Louis from him but he doesn't let go.  
"He's safe!" a voice assures, and another insists:  
"Your Majesty, ease your mind. He's safe!"  
He knows that!  
Good Lord, he's not a complete imbecile!  
He knows the Dauphin is not hurt, knows he probably wasn't in that great a danger in the first place. He's strong, and there was so little water! He could have **walked** out of it! He knows his ridiculous rescue attempt might have only managed to make them both drenched and muddy, but it's his son, and he would die for him! He will always love him, and care for him, and protect him at the risk of his own life, because that's what fathers do!

 _That's what fathers do._

He coughs.  
It burns.  
"Your Majesty?"

 _Nobody will protect Louis at all costs after I'm gone._

He coughs, and coughs again, it hurts like Hell but he can't help it.  
"Your Majesty? Are you well?"

 _Nobody…_

"Your Majesty?"  
"I'm fine!" he snaps, before quickly pulling himself together. The Dauphin has already stopped crying and he releases him.  
"His Majesty is all right," Tréville intervenes. "He merely swallowed some water."  
 _Oh, bless the man!_  
"I am perfectly fine," Louis repeats in a more composed voice, and chuckles. "A bit shaken, is all. I didn't expect a bath so soon in the afternoon, but that was refreshing."  
The courtiers laugh, as they've been raised.  
"Refreshing and audacious, Your Majesty," says a young, ambitious Baron whose name he never remembers. "More evidence of your bravery."  
He smiles.  
"Indeed. I must admit that my action was a bit rash, but I do not stop to think when my son is in danger."

 _I do not stop to think and it doesn't matter if I die.  
Because I'm his father._

He straightens.

 _Good Lord, it hurts!  
My lungs are burning!_

 _I will collapse in a few minutes!_

Once more, Tréville comes to his rescue:  
"Your Majesty? Please, let me escort you back to your apartments."  
The nameless Baron interferes anew:  
"I will hand over the Dauphin into the good care of Doctor Obrecht. And make sure that nobody disturbs you again."  
"Disturbs me?" Louis echoes, his voice too croaking for his taste.  
"In your work, Your Majesty. The important order you told us about this morning? The one you wanted to be sent to Captain Athos before the end of the day?"  
"Oh. The order. Well…"

 _Who else will risk everything without thinking for the Dauphin if I get my wish?_

"It can wait. I will stand by my son's side until the Doctor assures me that this forced bath didn't impair his health in any way."  
"Are you certain, Your Majesty?"  
"Are you questioning my judgement?"  
"I would never do such a thing, Your Majesty. I was merely concerned about your own well-being."  
"Well..." _What on Earth is this bootlicker's name? De Chanteur? De Cantique? De Chanteraine!_ "Baron de Chanteraine, I thank you for your dedication. And I will remember it."  
The man's face brightens as his fake concerns fade away.  
"You honor me greatly, Your Majesty."  
"Yes… Yes, I do. Now, if you please, the Prime Minister and I will accompany the Dauphin to his room. And forget about that order. As a matter of fact, I changed my mind."  
Tréville gives him his arm and Louis succeeds in letting him take most of his weight without the others noticing.  
"As you wish, Your Majesty," the Baron answers.

 _Yes_ , Louis muses as they walk back to the Palace, his son's hand into his. _As I wish._

 **FIN**

 **x**

 **I had very little time for the Fête des Mousquetaires competition this month, so this is quite short but I hope you liked it. II wanted to do a Louis "rambling" for quite a time, and that was the occasion to try to answer some questions, like "How on Earth are they all so convinced that Aramis is the true father of the Dauphin?" and "How can he end up Prime Minister after the King of France swore to keep him away from his son?"  
It was also interesting to write an introspection for a character who seems unable to take a step back from himself :))  
** **A big thank to Pika_la_Cynique for the extensive proofreading!**

 **Notes:**

 **\- Montjuïc and Thionville are real battles against Spain during the Thirty Years' War, but I totally and willingly messed up with the time periods, as the show does.  
** **\- "** **Perroquet", the pony's name, is "Parrot" in French.  
** **\- "** **Chanteraine", "Chanteur" and "Cantique" don't sound that much alike, but they all refer to the word "chant", that is the general term for "song" in French. I figured Louis would have found this mnemotechnic way to remember his courtier's name :)**


End file.
